The Great Convergence Part 3

"Listen," he said, swiftly drawing it from its sheath.

There wasn't a whisper of sound. He then ran his finger along the flat of the blade. The immaculate metal resonated with a crystal clear tone.

"There are more than a few blacksmiths that would give their right hand to learn how I make these. Those are the secrets I'm worried about. A fellow by the name of Flinn has gotten wealthy off of one of my daggers..." he said, immediately changing the subject. "Say, you know what I haven't made in a dog's age? A staff. Lain doesn't use magic. Not a word of it. Frankly, it doesn't make any sense to me, because he swears by that 'warrior's sleep' they taught him back in the belly of the beast, and that is deeper and harder to manage than any trance. I've made normal staffs, but a casting staff would be a fine diversion. You say you are a full master? I suppose that I would be justified in giving you a piece of my handiwork, but . . . I just can't be sure. I would have to see you in action before I made something from scratch. I might not mind working on the one you've already got, though."

Myranda shook her head in disbelief again. He spoke of betraying his friend and having a relationship with his enemy as though it was nothing, but the very moment that the subject of weaponry was introduced, he latched onto it with boundless interest. Before she could object, Desmeres had fetched her staff.

"Good heavens. Have they still got Coda making these? I could improve this immeasurably. There are at least a dozen runes that could make this doubly resistant to hostile spells. A few potion infusions. Yes. This could be a fine weapon . . . Gracious, this is heavy. Did they give this to you?" he asked.

" . . . No, Deacon gave it to me," she said. She knew by now that attempting to bring closure to anything that Desmeres wasn't interested in discussing anymore was useless.

"Well, Deacon must not be a weapon specialist, because this is the wrong size, weight, and shape for someone like you. The crystal could use work as well, but I haven't got the equipment for that. Not here anyway," he said.

That was the last she heard from him for most of the day. He retired to a corner of the weapon room and set himself to work, flipping through books, selecting tools, and carving at the staff. Myranda watched for a time. He worked with a speed, grace, and enthusiasm that she admired. He must truly love the work. Before long, though, her mind became fixed on other things. She moved back to the dining room and retired to a chair. Myn had finished shedding and looked to Myranda for attention. The girl moved to the ground to better dote upon her friend. She patted the little creature, whose scales were now as smooth and shiny as the day she was born. As she did, she thought.

She thought back to her encounter with Trigorah. It pained her to think of it. She was desperate to escape. In her desperation she nearly killed the commander. Now it was possible that all of this time they had been dedicated to the same goal. If she had only turned herself over, all of this could have been avoided. But then, if she had turned herself in then she would not have helped to conjure the other Chosen in Entwell, and she would not know nearly as much magic. She would not have even been sure of Lain's place in the Chosen. Was it all part of the prophesy? All part of the plan for the world that she would not know the truth until she had earned it? So much hardship had come since then... Her reverie was interrupted when Desmeres entered the room.

"Ah, excellent, the dragon has shed her skin," he said, gathering up the blanket and dumping the remnants of the act into a bag. "This is a very useful and very rare resource. I can think of a dozen or more things to do with this."

"Then when you put down the blanket, you didn't want to make Myn more comfortable, you wanted to make it easier to collect up the shedding?" Myranda said, annoyed that yet another seeming act of kindness was false.

"Yes. Would you stand up, please?" he asked.

"Why?" she asked.

"I need your exact height," he said, offering a hand to help her up.

Myranda reluctantly accepted the help. He looked her up and down, eventually asking to see her hands as well. Once he seemed satisfied with sizing her up, he told her so.

"Before you sit down, though, I imagine you might like something nicer than the floor to sleep on. We haven't got any beds, but there are a few bed rolls. One for each of us and a spare. If that dragon of yours . . . " he began.

"Her name is Myn," Myranda interjected.

"If Myn can hold onto her flame, I would not mind offering her the spare," he said.

"Myn likes to sleep on top of me," Myranda said.

"Do you like for her to sleep atop you?" he asked.

"I don't mind it," she replied.

"Then by all means let it continue. Sleep wherever you find room enough on the floor to do so, though I would not recommend directly below the entrance. It would lead to a rather rude awakening," he said.

Myranda accepted the bed roll and set it up, but she was not ready for sleep yet. She sat up longer and thought. It was perhaps a few hours more, in the dead of the night, when the door quietly creaked open and Lain deactivated the traps and slipped back inside. Desmeres was too busy at his task to notice the entry. Lain sat at the table in front of Myranda. He had nothing new with him. The dragon leapt from her lap to his, eager for the novelty of her other favorite creature in the world.

"Desmeres has shown me around," Myranda said.

Lain shifted his gaze to her without acknowledging her words.

"I have seen the books. The first two shelves are all about your business. Desmeres would not tell me what the third shelf's books were for," she said.

"Desmeres knows his place," he said.

"All I have to do is ask, you know. You have made a promise to me," she said.

"So I have," he answered.

"Then tell me. What is the purpose? Most of the pages do not even have names," she said.

"I am not interested in names. I am interested in people," he said.

"Tell me what I want to know," she demanded.

"Those are drops of blood. I collect one from each person who owes me a favor so that I can identify them by scent," he said.

"Owe you favors?" she asked.

"I have helped them in some way," he said.

"Oh? I suppose that you murdered someone for them and they have yet to pay you," Myranda said harshly.

"Now, now. That is an oversimplification of the services that we offer," Desmeres said, drawn by the voices. "We don't merely kill people. We also dabble in espionage. To wit, I have here every dispatch that we have managed to seize from the military through our various channels since you went missing. Allow me to condense. Up until about six weeks ago, dispatches were flying in every direction with inadequate and frankly rather skewed descriptions of Myranda here. Separately, there have been significant efforts put into reminding the populace of the evils of malthropes. Then the messages began to taper off. By the end, the rather thin selection of messages available all seemed to agree that the primary targets of late are dead or of no more concern. That is, of course, except for one that we managed to sneak a peak at en route from Trigorah herself to General Bagu, urging that the search not be ended until a body is found. I have reason to believe that Bagu agrees. He may even have sent one of the other Generals to give Trigorah a hand, although other dispatches seem to indicate a second General has been involved for some time," he said.

"What does all of this mean for us?" Myranda asked.

"For us it means that we will be facing the Elite as a smaller, more focused, and much more powerful group. Fortunately, thanks to Lain's less than subtle actions prior to retreating to the Belly of the Beast, the Elite proper has been reduced to a handful of men, and with the way the combat on the front lines has been heating up, I cannot foresee many new members anytime soon. The rest are just mercenaries in uniforms, comparatively no threat at all. It also means that if we disguise you a bit, we may be able transport you from one place to another without rousing too much suspicion. So long as you don't run into Trigorah herself, who knows your face," he said.

"But Trigorah is the one person I want to meet. She is the one who can deliver me to the Alliance Army safely so that I can begin finding the other Chosen," Myranda said.

Lain's gaze shifted sternly to Myranda.

"Yes. She has leapt to a rather lofty conclusion about the AA seeking to help her join the Chosen together," Desmeres explained.

"You agreed," Myranda said.

"I agreed it was possible. I also remarked that it was not at all likely. I could have guessed that their intentions for you are not quite hospitable, but there is no sense guessing about one's intentions when we can read them in their own words. From Bagu to Trigorah a few months ago. 'I cannot stress the importance of this capture enough. As long as this target remains out of our reach, the possibility of failure exists. We must have her, if possible alive. She could be an invaluable resource.' Capture, target, resource, if possible alive? These do not sound like the words of a helpful and concerned party," he said.

"I don't care," she said.

"If you knew more about the people who want you, you might. You need to learn just who is really after you. The five generals are the ones most interested. Regardless of what you may have seen or heard, the generals are not the sort of people that you want looking for you. I know that you think that they have the best of intentions for you and the world, but keep in mind that if not for them, this war would have come to an end, possibly peacefully, decades ago."

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"There are standing orders from the generals to kill anyone sent to broker a peace. There is every indication that those have been the orders since the war began," he explained.

"So I have heard . . . wait. This war has been fought off and on for the past hundred and fifty years. How could the same five generals be at fault?" she asked.

"They aren't human. At least, four of them aren't for certain. Trigorah is an elf, as you know, but she was the last to be made a general, well after the war began. As for the others . . . I believe that they are D'karon," he said.

"D'karon? The inhuman creatures? The ones that created those wretched Cloaks and . . . and the dragon thing that killed the swordsman?" she cried. "I don't believe it."

"I don't expect you to. I only ask that you keep your eyes open, and listen for these names. They are bad people. There is a reason that few living men and women have ever seen them, and that is because those who see them seldom live long. The first is Trigorah. You know her well enough and she is, to a degree, the least of your worries. She is the decent and honorable sort and will only do what she is ordered to do. In the same vein, she will always do what she is ordered to do, and since she takes her orders from the other generals, she is capable of anything. Next is Teht. You won't likely run into her, but you may be brought before her if you get caught. She is fairly inactive, spending nearly all of her time in research, experimentation, and training others. A powerful wizard, and surrounded by many of the same. Now, Demont. He is one you had best keep away from. He doesn't seem terribly dangerous. A rather slight and weak looking man, but he surrounds himself with the most vicious and twisted of D'karon creatures, and they take his will as law. Beasts snap to attention more readily and obediently than soldiers around him. He likes to spend his time researching as well, but research of a different sort. Many is the story I have heard of a patrol of soldiers torn to shreds by a swarm of creatures none had ever seen before while a man matching Demont's description watches. He tests these creatures. More disturbing is the man he often brings as a partner. Epidime. Nearly all of the information I have about this fellow is contradictory. This much I am certain of: He is an intelligence officer and a very good one, specializing in interrogation. His skills in that area are the stuff of legend. Those who come before him are never the same afterward. I have spoken with one or two of his victims. They ended up telling him things they didn't even know they knew. However, all of them report to one man, Bagu. Don't be fooled by the name. He is a masterful leader and, if what is said is true, every bit the wizard and warrior to keep the others in line by fear or force," he said.

"I can't imagine them being as evil as you make them sound," she said.

"It depends on your perspective. Frankly, most of our countrymen should be worshiping them. I guarantee you that without them, the North would have fallen to the south fifty years ago. It is on the strength of the five generals that the Alliance army has withstood so many years against a far larger and healthier force. From your point of view, though, they are most definitely evil. These are the men and woman who want your freedom," he said.

"They want to help me, and the world," she said.

"If you choose to believe that," he said with a shrug. "Just remember, these are the most important and powerful people in the north. If you meet them, consider every breath from there after a gift. People don't tend to outlive their usefulness around them."

"Point taken," she said.

"I sincerely doubt that. Regardless, back to the business at hand. We need to do something soon. I believe these to be the last dispatches that we will receive until we can establish some new informants. We need manpower," Desmeres said.

"How much gold have I?" Lain asked.

"Most of what we have left is yours. I'd say perhaps ninety bars worth," he said.

"That will be enough," Lain said.

"For what? . . . " Desmeres said, with a tone of humoring a child.

"There is a mining company in the mountains to the north east . . . " Lain began.

"No. No! Absolutely not. You know I cannot go out there. If you like, I'll show you the order by the AA demanding my head! I didn't even need an informant for it. It was nailed to a tree. You expect me to go out and negotiate a purchase now?" Desmeres objected fiercely.

"It will give us countless new opportunities . . . " he countered, calmly.

"I don't care what it will give us, it is a terrible idea. I simply will not do it. And don't think that you'll be able to do it either. Unless those interrogators were kind enough to return that cloak that hides your face, you won't last three words into the first round of negotiations before either your throat is slit or you are forced to slit someone else's, and it will take me months to replace that little gadget. Not that anyone would conduct a negotiation with a man he couldn't look in the eye," he said.

"We'll send Myranda," he said.

"No! Absolutely not! I don't want anything to do with this awful business of yours!" Myranda objected.

"You want to send her!? We have only just gotten her back into fold after you released her the last time! Now you propose that she be sent out, alone, with all of our money? I thought that you had mentioned best judgment as the standing order," he said.

"We do not have very many options," Lain said.

"That doesn't mean that we must choose the worst one! I've got a business or two left. We only need to get to one," he said.

"If it was so simple you would have done it," Lain said.

"Perhaps I was waiting for you," Desmeres offered.

Lain looked calmly at his partner.

"How many?" Desmeres asked, defeated.

"Two hundred," Lain answered.

"It's Grossmer's? Grossmer's, the suppliers of half of the iron and copper in all of the Low Lands, is what you've got your eye on?" Desmeres said in disbelief.

Lain nodded.

"When did they even mention the possibility of putting that place up for sale? It isn't a gold mine, but it may as well be! They've got military contracts! Guaranteed business until the end of the war! . . . Of course, long standing military contracts mean that some of the older administrators could have fairly firm connections on the inside. That would be useful. We might have to bargain hard to take them for only ninety and have any left for your little practice in futility," he said thoughtfully. Finally he threw his hands up. "There is simply too much that needs to be done. I shall have to come along. We will need a carriage, an impressive one. With equally impressive horses and a driver. Impressive, but not extravagant. We need to convince them we are oozing with money, but we use it wisely. It will set the tone of the day and turn the deal in our direction before we even start. We will need a disguise for Myranda in keeping her supposed social rank. The carriage will need a hiding place for me."

"Weren't you listening? I simply won't go!" Myranda objected again.

"You will change your mind. As for you, Lain. Since this was your idea, I will be expecting you to gather the necessary equipment. I will finish working on Myranda's staff and draw up the paperwork. And I'll mix up some of the smoke flares to keep the oloes away from the horses while we load up the carriage," Desmeres said.

"Meet me on the road east of here in seven days," Lain said.

With that he rose and headed for the door.

"No, not again! Come back here! I haven't agreed!" Myranda called after him.

It was no use, she threw open the door that he had shut behind him, only to see him whisper a word or two to Myn, who sat obediently and watched as he whisked up to the hatch and slipped out.

"I'm not through with you!" Myranda called uselessly.

"You are beginning to repeat yourself. A word of advice from a veteran in dealing with that fellow. He and no one else decides when you are through with him. I have yet to finish a conversation with him that did not interest him," Desmeres said.

"Both of you are so selfish," she said.

"That is a fair opinion. One I happen to agree with, in fact," he said.

"How can you be so c.o.c.ky? You take it for granted that I will help you," she said.

"You will. You are both intelligent and helpful. It is in your nature to do what others need of you. You are already becoming aware of how businesslike I am, and it is only a matter of time before you realize how useful it will be to have performed a valuable service for us," he said, walking back to his workshop.

"What do you mean?" she asked, following him.

"Your life, or death, depends entirely upon your value of each to us. You are alive because you are worth more to us in that state. Were I you, and I was after Lain's aid in this Chosen nonsense as you are, I would be spending most of my time and effort proving that I am more valuable as an ally than as a captive," he said, taking a seat at the bench and picking up the wood chisel.

"How could I possibly do that?" she asked.

"I don't have all of the answers, but I would say that helping us with this purchase would be a fine start. You might think about sabotaging our relationship with the AA while you are at it. That way we would have a harder time turning you over for the reward to anyone but Trigorah. We would have to hold onto you longer, and you would have more time to convince Lain to end the war," he said.

"Why are you telling me this?" she asked.

"It will both plant the seeds of an idea, making it more likely for you to make the decision that benefits me most, and confuse your desire to do the opposite of what I say," he said.

" . . . I wish you were not quite so forthcoming with your explanations," she said, less than pleased with this glimpse into the disturbingly well crafted manipulations of her host.

"I'd warned that my honesty would become bothersome . . . " he said, looking up distractedly. "Lain . . . he didn't bring a weapon, did he?"

"I didn't notice. I suppose not. Why? Are you concerned for him?" she asked.